Few modern classics bring more challenges, in particular the burden of expectation, than Anthony Burgess's dystopian shocker. How do you stage it to give the full force of its lawlessness and cruelty while creating something that's still watchable?

Volcano's startling version is short and viciously sharp, with a couple of core inventive touches that work well. The role of Alex, narrating, is shared across the cast of five: their accents range from Glaswegian to New York via Cockney. This move deepens the sense of menace – you never quite know where it will land next – and also the universality of Burgess's key question: is it better to choose to be evil than be forced to be good?

This production also looks beautiful, quite hauntingly so. Gudny Sigurdar's design is all monochrome hard edges, with banks of television screens and black shelving, so the incongruous glimmers of lighter elements, such as a glass of druggy "milk-plus" or a white bust of Beethoven, are intensified.

It is, as it should be, a rude assault on the senses. Cleverly, much of the violence is implied, but in effective ways: Barbie dolls are cut up and violated; terrible gestures are made repeatedly behind people's backs; rape and murder are casually described in Nadsat, the book's Anglo-Russian slang.

Sound is one of the most terrifying things here: shouting and screeching; classical music in a warped context; a struggle to speak at the beginning and then a wall of words at the end. Paul Davies directs a terrific cast – special mention to Mairi Phillips, railing against her role as the only woman – in a production that is desperately bleak yet funny, horrific and uncomfortably attractive.